Television Tropes & Idioms: The Final Fantasy XII edition
by jellinor
Summary: Television trope #6: Unexpected Successor. "Your Honour—" The Imperial Elite sounds strained from under his helmet, "—we have now lost all lines of communication with the Bahamut."
1. Bad, Bad Acting

Author's Note: As a newbie to this fandom, let me just say that I while I've been a big supporter of the Final Fantasy franchise for a long time, I totally fell in love with the quirky stuff from the fantabolous Television Tropes & Idioms website (check it out, it's _amazing_). It literally had me falling off my chair laughing, so this collection of one-shots is inspired by – and dedicated to – you guys, whoever you are, because you really are brilliant.

So, I'll kick this series off with a little something that parodies poor Gabranth's thoroughly butchered attempt to impersonate his brother, because – honestly – who was he trying to fool? XD

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy XII, or the chapter title (and general concept) that I've shamelessly stolen from Television Tropes & Idioms.

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**Bad, Bad Acting**

**.**

_Acting's version of Hollywood Tone Deaf._

**.**

There were bodies scattered all over the place, but it was the old geezer on the throne that finally caught his attention. Granted that he had never set as much as a foot inside any of the royal palaces until today, but even Vaan would have figured this one out fairly quickly.

"Y-Your Majesty…" Reks breathed in a moment of dumbstruck awe, because a Nobody like him wasn't supposed to be anywhere near a Somebody like that, before the full and horrified implications of what he was seeing hit him all at once:

Too late. They had been too late.

Somehow, the unthinkable had happened. The King was dead. And Dalmasca… Dalmasca was _lost_.

He swallowed hard – once, then twice – in an attempt to collect his scrambled thoughts, but panic was starting to set in. What was he going to do? Everyone in the chamber was dead. Everyone except Reks.

And the Captain, he realized.

The Captain was nowhere to be seen.

He quickly scanned the dead on the floor, but Captain Basch was not amongst them, and in spite of everything, hope flared in his chest: Captain Basch had to be alive somehow. He had to be. Captain Basch would never fall to the Imperials so easily.

But where was the Captain now? Where had he been when Archadia forced Dalmasca's surrender? And when they had murdered the King? How could Captain Basch have allowed any of this to happen?

Reks didn't know, but he would get his answers all too quickly, because suddenly there was the Captain's face – and a deep, sharp, burning pain to his abdominals.

"C-Captain…" he choked out in raw disbelief. "Why?"

Captain Basch. The King! Reks' mind was reeling. Gods, it had been _Captain Basch_.

"Our King…" he rasped, trying in vain to ignore the dagger he knew was lodged deep into his side. "What have you _done_?"

"The King intended all along to sell Dalmasca to The Empire," spat the Captain harshly. "His Majesty was a traitor."

"Captain, I—" Reks suddenly checked himself. There was definitely something very strange about all this, and his Older Brother Sense was tingling. "Hold on a minute."

The Captain glowered. "What?!" he barked impatiently, eager to get to the next part of his speech.

Reks' eyes narrowed. That confirmed it. "Your voice has changed," he announced, slowly raising one blood-stained hand from the wound on his stomach to point accusingly at his superior. "You… You're not the Captain at all!"

The Captain's jaw dropped slightly.

Perhaps it was the blood loss making him giddy, or maybe it was the result of spending so much time with Vaan, but Reks was actually starting to enjoy himself. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What have you done with the _real_ Captain Basch?"

"I…" The fair-haired warrior suddenly looked uncertain. "What do you mean? I _am_ Basch!"

"No, you're not." Reks paused. Then he added, defiantly, "I don't believe you."

"Why, you insolent whelp, I—"

"I bet you don't even know my name," interrupted Reks triumphantly. "Or anything that only the real Captain Basch would know!"

Gabranth was sweating buckets under his thin Dalmascan garb. This wasn't supposed to happen. But he couldn't kill the brat, because Lord Vayne had said that they needed a witness. "But I'm telling you," he insisted with mounting desperation. "On my honour, I am the real Basch!"

(…which was at least _partially_ true, Noah supposed. Sort of.)

"Prove it."

Watching the scene unfold from the shadows, Vayne Solidor promptly facepalmed.


	2. Running Gag

Author's Note: Another parody. Because Ashe is a leader of the goddamn RESISTANCE, and you better not forget it.

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XII and Television Tropes & Idioms are not mine in any way.

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**Running Gag**

**.**

_"Everyone knows that everything is funnier the sixth time."_

- The Average Brony, -Trollvorlord

**.**

"To be sure, she bears no proof of her former station… No different from any mere member of the _insurgence_."

Perhaps it was seeing her father's murderer standing there right in front of her, restrained but alive when so many beloved friends and worthy allies were not. Perhaps it was the contempt rolling off the Judge Magister in thick waves as he dared to speak of her homeland. Perhaps it was the poor excuse for breakfast they had tried to serve her that morning. Perhaps it was a combination of all three (and then some), but princess Ashelia B'nagin Dalmasca saw red.

"That's _it_!" she screeched, delicate hands balling into two tight fists at her side. "I've had it with you people!"

Vaan's jaw hit the floor, and even Balthier raised an eyebrow, as Judge Ghis suddenly had his especially-made, majorly blinged-out visor full of furious teenage girl.

"How dare you—" She sucked in her breath harshly, self-righteous anger clouding both her better judgement and basic survival instincts. "How _dare_ you refer to us as insurgents!?"

Fran and Balthier exchanged a look, the Viera mouthing 'Told you so.'

"How many times do I have to say it—" Ashe was by now jabbing her right index finger into the Judge's chest plate, emphasizing each word with a sharp poke. "We're the RESISTANCE, dammit! THE RESISTANCE!"

Ghis was, for lack of a better word for it, totally fascinated by the fireworks going off in front of him. Who would have thought that the stubborn child would implode quite so spectacularly over such a trivial matter? He was, however, getting increasingly annoyed at the poking. If she somehow managed to put a dent in his armour with her claws, he'd be seriously pissed off; it had cost him a small fortune to commission. "Lady A—"

"No. Now you listen to me, you stupid tin can, I—"

In the confusion, Vaan had managed to discretely side up with the two sky pirates. "Balthier," he hissed in a last-ditch shot for some guidance. "What's going on?"

Balthier shrugged. Hell if he knew. "Women," he said.

Fran snorted. "_Humes_."


	3. Break the Cutie

Author's Note: Because the last Solidor is a total cutie and draws a pretty short straw at the end. Larsa and Penelo do a bit of bonding in the aftermath of Vayne's defeat, as our heroes prepare to split up once and for all.

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy XII or the stuff I once again borrowed from the clever, clever people at Television Tropes & Idioms.

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**Break the Cutie**

**.**

"_Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them – in order that the reader may see what they are made of."_

- Kurt Vonnegut's eight rules for writing fiction

**.**

"Larsa! Hey, Larsa! Wait!"

The Thirteenth Emperor of Archadia – the _de facto_ one anyway, because even though Larsa isn't his father or his brother or even the real thing just yet, he is all that is left, and the men already defer to him as if he were – slowly turns around at the sound of his name.

"Penelo?" he inquired in his usual polite, measured tone that he hopes will mask the surprise (_what is she still doing here? shouldn't she be on the carrier heading to Rabanastre with Vaan and the others_), wariness (_by the gods, the ink on the peace treaty has barely dried and already there is something going wrong!_) and those other things that he can't afford to think about right now (_a Solidor always puts the needs of others before his own. a Solidor always puts the needs of others before his own_).

He motions to the man at his side – his ever-silent, ever-vigilant, ever-loyal Judge Magister – to please go on ahead, and Larsa nearly smiles when Gabranth obligingly removes himself, albeit not entirely, to hover at a respectful distance.

(He looks so much like Gabranth, feels so much like Gabranth, that Larsa almost forgets that the man now standing guard over his life in fact isn't Gabranth at all, but an imposter clad in Gabranth's armour, because Gabranth – the _real_ Gabranth – is gone. Gone, like so many people.)

"Are you alright?"

Larsa snaps to attention. Somehow, and over the span of just a few short moments, Penelo has moved from Way Over There to Right Up Here and is now peering down at him with too-large, too-knowing eyes that make him feel unacceptably small.

"Certainly," he is quick to assure her, expertly ignoring the unspoken part of her question. "As you can see, I am quite unhurt."

Penelo shakes her head. "What I meant was… are you _alright_?"

Larsa's jaw clenches and unclenches with indecision, but the way she stresses that one, particular word makes it impossible for him to lie to her.

"No," he admits at last. "No, Penelo, I am not."

He is deeply grateful when she doesn't reply straightaway, because he can honestly say that he dreads her response. He knows that grieving is an insult – to her and to her people – but Vayne was his brother long before he became a monster, and nothing – _nothing_ – can ever change that. But Larsa also knows that he can't expect her to understand all that, and it saddens him that after everything they have been through together, they will part like this. So she catches him completely off-guard when she suddenly closes the gap between them and loops her arms around him.

"I know," she murmurs against his shoulder. "But you will be. I promise."

It is only when the initial surprise and bewilderment has worn off – because despite the pressure around his neck and on his shoulders, the situation becomes far less threatening once he realizes that she isn't actually trying to strangle him – and he has awkwardly mirrored her actions while praying to all of the gods above that he doesn't offend her (and that his guardian doesn't suddenly turn around) that Larsa remembers what she told him about her own family. "…thank you," he mutters, and he hopes that she understands that he is grateful to her for more than just the hug.

"I have to go," she says, a bit sheepishly, as she slowly lets go of him. "I'm sort of holding up the shuttle home and Lady Ashe…"

Larsa nods. He, too, has people waiting for him.

"Take care of yourself, Larsa."

She smiles. It is a survivor's smile, full of compassion and understanding; and Larsa knows then that he will do whatever it takes for this fragile new peace between their two countries to last. Then she calls over her shoulder, in that bright, mischievous tone of voice she usually reserves only for Vaan:

"Keep out of trouble!"

"I… I shall try my best," he vows quietly, more to himself than to her, though he means it all the same, while self-consciously straightening out his clothes. If Basch fon Ronsenburg is _anything_ like his brother, he's bound to ask unnecessary and troublesome questions if anything is out of place. "And you, Penelo. And you."


	4. Mama Bear

Author's Note: I keep cranking these out, don't I? XD

This one is about Drace, because Drace is awesome. Now, I realize that a Judge probably would have more important things to do than playing nanny to spoiled children, but for the sake of the story, let's just pretend it makes sense.

Disclaimer: I don't ownFFXII or Television Tropes & Idioms.

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**Mama Bear**

**.**

_"That's what moms are like – mess with their babies, they're gonna bite you back!"_

- Princess Ursa, _Avatar The Last Airbender_

**.**

As expected, she finds him in Lord Vayne's private library, safely tucked away on one of the cushioned window ledges at the far end of the room, his short legs dangling freely over the edge.

The heavy tome resting on the child's lap is easily over half his size, and looks too much like one of Vayne's old history textbooks to be anything else. A mere fledgling he may yet be, but Lord Gramis' youngest son spends nearly all of his waking time among his brother's books; and in spite of her growing misgivings about his older brother, Drace seriously doubts that this had been Vayne's intention when he finally gave in to Larsa's request for his lord brother to please teach him how to read.

"Lord Larsa."

She has approached him as soundlessly as her armour would allow, which doesn't amount to much, despite years of practise, but the boy is far away from her and from Archades – preoccupied with slaying dragons and founding empires, no doubt – and he flinches ever so slightly when the sound of his name draws him back.

"Judge Magister Drace."

He acknowledges her presence with remarkable calm and authority, well-befitting of his station; though she can easily discern the undercurrent of quiet dismay that reminds her that for all of his eloquence, Lord Larsa is still but a child of six years old.

"Your Honour—" the boy regards her with large, steel-coloured eyes; a child's eyes, "—is it that time already?"

She gently declines her head in reply, glad that her helmet swallows up the smile on her lips.

(After all, a Judge Magister of The Empire does not smile, and the sons of emperors are not just children.)

For a moment, the boy looks thoughtful, as if he were carefully weighing his options in his mind. Then he sighs, and obediently closes his book. "Very well…" His feet meet the soft carpet with a low thud. "We may go."

And they go, because even little princes have their bedtimes.


	5. Added Alliterative Appeal

Author's Note: Balthier's famous line.

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XIIand TV Tropes & Idioms aren't mine.

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**Added Alliterative Appeal**

**.**

_An article adds alliterative appeal if it includes identical initial icons in the trope title that the troper thought to try where words will without exception employ equivalent establishing emblems._

**.**

"Ah-hah!" announced Balthier grandly, in his best leading man voice. "The prison repository of wrestled relics and raiments!"

Fran, on her part, wisely ignored the grand proclamation, by now mostly desensitized to her Hume companion's antics. But Vaan, who was both hungry and tired from that unfortunate ordeal in the sandpit, and still sporting a rather fetching purple bruise on his left cheek, looked thoroughly unimpressed. "So our things are in here?" he deadpanned, wanting nothing more than to cut the crap and get the hell out.

Balthier smiled smugly. "That's what I _said_," he quipped, savouring the moment.

Vaan opened his mouth as if to say something, but immediately thought better of it and quickly shut it again. "…_show-off_," he muttered under his breath as he stomped past the two sky pirates to look for his stuff.

Balthier sighed, deeply disappointed by the lack of reaction. Fran, on the other hand, eyed the troublesome child with new-found appreciation.


	6. Unexpected Successor

Author's Note: …because in spite of everything, it's hard not to feel a tiny bit sorry for the old man.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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**Unexpected Successor**

**.**

**Lee "Apollo" Adama:** How far down?  
**Laura Roslin:** 43rd in line of succession. I know all 42 ahead of me from the President down. Most of us served with him in the first administration. Some of them came with him from the Mayor's office. I was there with him on his first campaign. I never really liked politics; I kept telling myself I was getting out, but… he had this way about him. [The pilot appears with a piece of paper.] Just couldn't say no to him. [He hands her the paper.] Thank you. [She sits up, puts her jacket back on.] We'll need a priest.

_- Battlestar Galactica_, Miniseries pt I.

**.**

"Your Honour—" The Imperial Elite sounds strained from under his helmet, "—we have now lost all lines of communication with the _Bahamut_."

(_Impossible_.)

Zargabaath looks on as the once great sky fortress slowly implodes, its majestic glossamer rings failing one by one, and he is suddenly overcome by an unprecedented sense of loss.

(Zecht to Nabudis, Ghis to his own selfish ambitions, Drace to Vayne Solidor, Bergan to folly and Gabrant—)

"Your orders, sir," insists the Imperial Elite uneasily. "Your _orders_!"

Zargabaath scowls.

(He was getting too old for this.)


End file.
